


The Flowers of Duscur

by radishleaf



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishleaf/pseuds/radishleaf
Summary: In Duscur, Annette's insecurities toward being with Dedue come to pass.





	The Flowers of Duscur

**Author's Note:**

> i really like dedue/annette ok? ok. so take this short, cute oneshot of them together. it was supposed to be longer, but i felt writing more would ruin the mood, haha. 
> 
> not much else to say here, so kindly disregard any grammatical errors, punctuation mistakes, and the like. i tried to be thorough. enjooooy.

Though he claimed to not be bothered by the disdain thrown his way just by his passing, Dedue knew he was only mincing words. He could take things in small spurts, but each sneer or tasteless insult layered over each other, forming a heavy block he deigned to carry. It was only by escaping to places where not another soul dwelled, a place where he could roll his shoulders against the weight on them, could he calm down and unwind. The greenhouse and tending to the flowers there was his favorite pastime for just this, even if he found himself interrupted from time to time.

Heavy rain pelted against the glass exterior of the greenhouse, carrying on a loud drone inside that almost made him miss the clatter of the door closing. Dedue rose to consider this sudden visitor, dusting his hands clean on his pants after sowing a packet of northern Fodlan seeds in a tray of pots. Of all students in the academy, Dedue never thought he would be seeing Annette. She muttered a choice word beneath her breath as she shook the rain from her soaked braids and uniform skirt.

Annette was a common sight in the kitchens—usually in the company of Mercedes or joining him for cooking duty—but never in the greenhouse. Dedue determined she was there for a reason, and by the curious look to her eye matched by the book pressed to her chest, he knew he was right. For a keen mind such as hers, something must’ve piqued her interest.

The redhead’s gaze scanned the entirety of the greenhouse before landing on Dedue, to which she pipped up at. A pert smile curved on her lips as she approached him. “Dedue,” she greeted with a nod. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“I am always here,” Dedue returned. “I do not know why I wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, I meant because of the rain.” Annette glanced aside to the storm cloud brewing outside. “It’s coming down rather hard, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dedue said, following her line of sight. “It is.”

Dedue internally winced. He’d always been a man of few words, and even fewer conversations, so entertaining one was always met with some difficulty. Part of him wanted to apologize to Annette, but even if he found some fault with himself, she appeared unencumbered, or rather, unbothered by their short exchange. In fact, Annette’s smile brightened as she began to page through the book she shielded from the rain. After coming upon the page she dogeared, she turned the book around to Dedue, and indicated an illustration of a flower with bell-shaped blooms encompassing both halves.

“I’ve got to say, I’m in luck because you were just the person I was looking for,” Annette said. “I came across this flower in this book on Brigid and I just _had_ to find out what it’s called. It’s so pretty! Since you know a lot about flowers, maybe you can help me out?”

“Didn’t the book say what it was called?” Dedue asked.

Annette shook her head, braids swinging with the movement. Flipping back a page, she said, “The entire book is written in the language of Brigid, and I couldn’t find Petra anywhere to help me translate it. Not that I want to bother her, I know she’s busy herself.” Annette furrowed her brow. “B-but I just have to find out what this flower is called! It’s been bothering me that I don’t know!”

Dedue bent low, considering the flower carefully with a hum of thought. “I’m unsure of what this flower may be called in the language of Brigid,” he said, “but in Duscur, we have something similar.”

“Really?” Annette cried, bouncing on her heels. “Do you think they’re the same?”

“It’s a possibility,” Dedue said. “It’s been a long time so I’m not entirely sure, but I do remember a field of them near the village I lived in.”

“What did you call them?

“They were called Lily of the Valley.”

Annette’s lips parted in awe. “Lily of the Valley, huh…” she said, eyes dropping down to the book. “Its name is as pretty as it looks.”

“I agree. It is quite a lovely flower. They smell wonderful as well. It has a light, fragrant scent.”

Annette’s face took on a wistful look. “Wow,” she said. “I wish I could get a chance to see them in person one day…”

“There’s a possibility you might if you go to Duscur.”

“Really?” Annette’s eyes widened. “But isn’t Duscur infertile? Because of, y’know, the tragedy?”

“Yes,” Dedue said. “The Tragedy of Duscur burned the lands, making them unfit for farming. However, it isn’t irreparable. With time and care, any plot of land can be made fertile again.” He tapped the binding of the book with a finger. “And these flowers aren’t delicate, either. In due time, they too can grow back.”

“Then I _definitely _want to see that field one day,” Annette said with a wide smile. “It’d be my first stop when I visit Duscur.”

Dedue’s face warmed as he returned her smile. “Then let me have the honor of showing you that field,” he said, “when the time is right.”

Annette’s eyes sparkled in astonishment, one hand shooting out to catch Dedue’s forearm. “Do you mean that, Dedue? Would you really show me?”

“Of course,” he said with an incline of his head. “It’d be a worthwhile trip for someone so excited to see it.”

“Then it’s a promise,” Annette chirped. “When the time is right, we can go see the field together! Just the two of us!”

* * *

The view before him was both familiar and new; like a distant memory once conceived of in a dream. It was difficult to imagine it was Duscur, let alone it bridled in peace. If not wrought by blood and flame, Dedue couldn’t think of it as once being his home; there were too many painful memories tied to the tragedy that reduced it to ashes, so it was easier to mentally distance himself away from it.

But after the war, he returned, due in part to a promise he made years and years back and had always intended to keep—all because of one person: Annette. His memory of that one innocent moment with her bloomed into many others, and before long, he couldn’t imagine a life without her. Though they were engaged to be wed, not much had changed between them; their relationship—akin to a close friendship—remained unchallenged and unbothered.

Dedue blamed himself somewhat. Ever the stoic-type, he admittedly found some difficulty in telling Annette how much he cared for her. It was easier simply doing things; actions spoke louder than words in his retinue since he’d no other way to convey his feelings. Thus, their trip to Duscur was a tad impromptu and hurried. Annette agreed to join him, though she was at a loss for words as to why he was so steadfast in going.

Duscur appeared as he had left it—in ruins. Not a thing remained of the village he once called home save the toppled remains of buildings and ashen leftovers of burnt forest. The emotion within him was overwhelming, but he quashed it down, if only because he was here for something good, not lingering regrets or rumination. That didn’t stop his haste as he marched through the village.

Dedue tried to match his pace with Annette’s, but much to his chagrin, his impatience always had him two yards—sometimes three—ahead of her. Even slowing seemed to widen the distance between them, so he kept himself within eyeshot as she hustled to keep up. This proved futile, however, when he caught a lingering, fragrant scent in the air, exciting him as he picked up his pace again. Annette moaned out a note of complaint, but continued to follow suit.

“_Hah_, h-honestly, Dedue!” she cried to his back when he finally came to a stop. She keeled over a few strides away from him, barely propping herself up on her knees. “Why the rush? W-what’s so important—oh.” Annette’s breath caught in her throat. “O-oh, wow. D-Dedue… It’s… I-it’s _beautiful_.”

Annette felt her simple words did little to describe the majesty of it all. Dappled sunlight spilled into the small glade brimming with white flowers, washing the expanse in a pale glow. An enchanting scent wafted up from the field from a passing gale, which she filled her lungs with from a deep inhalation. It was a brisk sight of hope from all the ruination they passed, quelling Annette’s once upset feelings since coming to Duscur.

Annette wanted to look to Dedue, to see how he marveled like her, but she feared looking away—as if doing so would have the beauty before her dissipate in an instance. She opted for reaching for him, snaking her fingers down the length of his arm before clasping his hand. Dedue gave her hand a gentle squeeze, eliciting a smile from her that she couldn’t help beaming his way. The gentle countenance of the one he returned swelled her chest with mirth.

“Is this what you were so adamant to show me?” Annette asked.

Dedue dipped his head. “Yes,” he said as his gaze lingered on the field. “Do you remember the promise we made years ago?”

“Promise…?” Annette’s brows knit together as she searched her thoughts. “Do you mean the one we made in the greenhouse?”

“Yes. You had said you wanted to see a flower—a Lily of the Valley—in person one day, and I had promised to take you to see the ones in Duscur.”

Annette nodded her head slowly as the memory came back to her. “Oh, right… Right! I had come across it in a book and I had asked you if you recognized it!” Her cheeks reddened considerably. “I can’t believe you remembered that, Dedue. Even after all these years.”

“It would be impossible for me to forget any promise I made to you.”

Annette chuckled. “Oh, Dedue,” she sighed, before she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Didn’t you make the same promise, though? To the professor?”

Dedue’s lips parted before he pursed them. “Yes. I had made the same promise to the professor, in the very same greenhouse.”

“O-oh…”

Annette hadn’t meant to sound dejected. She never admitted it to him, but she’d always felt insecure when it came to how Dedue felt about her. She never pushed him to be more vocal, to show how he cared. It was why she prized the moments when it felt like it was only the two of them in the entire world. To have that disturbed by the mention of another made her feel, well, jealous.

“I-I’m sure you’d rather she was here instead of me.” The words flowed out of her despite her reluctance, her regrets. Annette could no longer look at Dedue, head dropping as she considered the tips of her boots. “I’m sure she would’ve liked to see this, too. With you. You asked her first, after all.”

“Annette.”

“She’s always an been amazing person. Powerful and capable of so much. I-I can’t compare…”

“Annette.”

“I-I mean, I’m clumsy, I forget things, and I’m absolutely _terrible_ in the kitchen. I wouldn’t make a very good wife.”

“Annette.”

“S-so I wonder why you ever chose me, Dedue. I’m, I-I’m sure another woman would make you happier—”

Dedue suddenly turned Annette to him and grabbed her shoulders, his hold firm and grounding. The redhead, caught off-guard, gave a small gasp as she was silenced by his fourth insistent, “_Annette_.”

It was the most honest she’d been with him in years, the truth prompted by her own rush of thoughts. She wanted to apologize, parted her lips to do so, but the concerned knot to Dedue’s brow kept her silent.

Dedue took a beat to collect his thoughts, and slowly, he said, “I did want to show the professor this, yes. She had an interest in flowers and I thought, in some small way, showing her the flowers of Duscur would repay all that she’s done for me.”

Annette’s bottom lip trembled. “I-I see…”

“However, she wasn’t the first person I wanted to share this moment with. The professor will always have my gratitude. She’s done things I could never repay in a lifetime. But”—Dedue released a heavy sigh that dropped his hunched shoulders—“she will never have my heart and soul. I already gave them away. Years ago—to you.”

Annette’s eyes wavered as emotion overcame her. “D-Dedue…”

“I… I-I know I’m not outspoken when it comes to what I think or feel. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, just as you have with your own troubles. But it’s those troubles—those things that make you who you are—what I fell in love with.” Dedue thumbed away a tear that rolled down Annette’s cheek. “So it hurts to hear you say I should’ve picked someone else when I made my choice already, Annette. It was you. It was always you.”

Unable to hold herself any longer, the tears once brimming in Annette’s eyes spilled over, streaming down her face. She rose a trembling hand to the one that cupped her cheek, seeking comfort in its warmth and hold.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry, Dedue. I hadn’t meant to doubt you. T-there’s just so much when it comes to me, a-and you’re too good for me, and I can’t deal with that sometimes, and—”

Dedue felt he couldn’t offer comfort through words alone, so he pulled her to him, wrapping arms about her shoulders. Annette continued to babble, clutching at his chest as if it were her only anchor to the world, until she managed to calm herself. Though she cried in front of Dedue once before on the eve he proposed to her, she’d never lost herself to the thrall of emotion. She was too embarrassed to meet his gaze, but couldn’t deny it was a break in their once mundane relationship. It was a leap—or rather, bound—they had a long time coming.

Carding fingers through her hair, Dedue asked, “Do you still regret it? Saying yes to marry me?”

Annette drew in a bedraggled breath as she shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “I think what I regretted more is, well, m-me. A-after all of the painful things we’ve been through, to find some semblance of happiness felt _wrong._ Like it wrong for me to be _this_ happy. With you, I mean.”

“I understand,” Dedue said with a nod. “I feel the same way.”

“And these feelings probably won’t ever go away.” Annette sniffled. “But we’ll make do. We’ll carve out our own happiness if we must, like right now, with you showing me these flowers. So thank you, Dedue. Thank you for making me happy.”

A warm smile curved on Dedue’s face. “Of course,” he said as he touched his forehead to Annette’s. “It’s the most I could do for the person that made me the happiest man alive.”


End file.
